Closer - A Spencer Reid story (2)

15

Spencer found himself pacing in his dimly lit apartment, mind spiraling with guilt and confusion. Every time he closed his eyes, Yn's face appeared, contorted with pain, her eyes hollow with memories he had tried so hard to forget but that the unsub had ruthlessly brought back to the surface. The messages had rattled her—he could see it, even if she tried to hide it behind her polite, guarded expressions. He wanted to shield her, protect her from the unsub's games, but he feared he was only dragging her deeper into danger by being close.

June was sitting on the couch, watching him in silence. Her jaw was tight, and her fingers clenched around the glass of wine she was holding. He could feel her eyes on him, heavy and questioning, and he knew she was waiting for him to open up, to say something that would ease her concerns. But he didn't know where to start—didn't know how to explain the tangle of emotions that knotted inside him whenever Yn was near.

Finally, June broke the silence. "Spencer, this can't go on," she said, her voice tense. She put her glass down and crossed her arms, eyes sharp. "You've been distracted, distant. I know you're under pressure with this case, but... this is more than that, isn't it?"

Spencer stopped pacing and met her gaze, a pang of guilt stabbing through him. He had always respected June's perceptiveness, but now it felt like an added weight, a spotlight illuminating his every flaw. "It's just... this case," he replied, running a hand through his hair. "The unsub is making it personal. It's affecting everyone. I'm trying to keep my focus, but it's... complicated."

"Complicated?" June repeated, her eyes narrowing. She leaned forward, her voice laced with frustration. "Complicated how, exactly? Because from where I'm standing, it looks like it's about Yn. Ever since she got involved, you've been... different."

The accusation hung heavy between them, but Spencer couldn't bring himself to deny it. Because she was right. Yn's involvement had shifted something inside him, reigniting feelings he had buried, stirring up regrets he hadn't fully dealt with. And yet, none of that mattered now. What mattered was keeping her safe.

"June," he began, forcing himself to keep his tone steady, "Yn's presence here—it's nothing. She's just a witness, someone who got tangled up in the unsub's twisted games because of me. But that's why I need to push her away. For her own safety."

June's mouth twisted in a bitter smile. "Push her away for her safety? Or push her away because being around her is... complicated for you? Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you're only pulling her in deeper."

Spencer flinched, her words hitting closer to home than he wanted to admit. He'd spent so long convincing himself that his feelings for Yn were a thing of the past, that he had moved on. But seeing her now, standing across from him in a cold BAU hallway, or catching glimpses of the pain she tried to hide whenever the unsub's messages reached her—it was all bringing everything back, so intensely it felt like he was reliving it all over again.

And June's gaze... It was turning stormy, her frustration like a wildfire sparking in her eyes. She had been patient, supportive, trying to give him the space he needed to handle the case, but he knew he was testing her limits.

"I don't think you're being honest with yourself, Spencer," she said, her voice low and almost bitter. "You say it's about her safety, but I think you're just scared. Scared because being around her reminds you of everything you never got closure on. And I'm supposed to just sit here and wait while you figure that out?"

"June..." he began, reaching out for her, but she took a step back, crossing her arms even tighter. Her anger wasn't explosive; it was simmering, controlled but searing. The kind that left scorch marks long after the flames had died down.